Not batting a lid
if I deserved that day or
this moment-
The job of reality is
only to serve
the fiction that's been stewing,
slow and sure
At times it prepares me
for what's in the offing
Oftentimes I'm on the stage
without even knowing
or having had time
to rehearse life
And yet,
'I'm the master of my destiny'
an illusion repetitive
the reality keeps playing
unto the vulnerable me-
Only a ploy to keep me cogged
to the wheels of reality
without an escape
or a goat to scape
Falling from mountains
or from peaks of grace
Would still have me come awake
sound and safe,
a little sweaty may be
but still in my bed-
That's the compassion of dreams
the reality couldn't care less
to bother with
or ever exhibit
Waking up in a dream
within a dream, alas,
won't get me any further
from the reality waiting
The plight of the helpless me
who hasn't much in the way of
outwitting the reality
except may be
once in a while
right under the nose of reality
escape to the twilight of
daydreaming.
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